


The Eide Traveling Mercenaries, Er, Players

by LooNEY_DAC



Series: LooNEY_DAC's SSSS AUs [15]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-07 23:58:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12852297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC
Summary: The adventures of the SSSS gang as a small band of mercs who are also an acting troupe in the middle of the Napoleonic Wars.





	1. From an Engagement in Bolivia

Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Upper Peru [modern Bolivia]  
February 7, 1814

The battlefield was covered with the dead and the dying, their pitiful cries the only things that broke the post-battle silence.

Overall, Sigrun Eide considered that their work had gone much better than expected; hopefully their employers agreed.

While the local leader, one Ignacio Warnes, had done a stellar job on his own, he was only one man; the addition of six assistants to his roster gave him a much-needed respite, as had the performances the Eide Traveling Players had staged for his benefit and to keep up their cover.

Even the best and most remunerative engagements must inevitably end, as Mikkel was fond of saying; so it was that they were called back to Europe for yet another job. If, as Sigrun more than half suspected, it proved not to their taste, the Eide Traveling Players would try another circuit of Germany, Switzerland and Italy.

In the meantime, they had to make their way back to Europe from a town in the middle of a civil war.

Naturally, Emil suggested leaving under cover of a forest fire; Tuuri and Lalli managed to talk him out of it, but their suggestion of slipping down the river and into a forest where they could lose any pursuit was just as impracticable, as they would need to abandon their faithful old wagon and its contents. Reynir had some weird idea about using a massed herd of sheep in place of the fire, while Mikkel wanted to run an absurd Trojan Horse scheme. Once again, the plan would have to come from Sigrun.

*

Well, that had gone much better than they’d expected, Sigrun thought upon their arrival in Montevideo a scant three months later. A few close calls with the natives, the rebels, the Spaniards, the bandits, and a weird group of clowns (of all things) notwithstanding, they had come through sound of limb and with all their possessions. Another week or so of performances here would see them ready to take ship back to Europe in high style.

Hopefully, their first performance here wouldn’t be their last, as had happened a time or two before. They were starting a new production of one of the favorites from their time in Galicia, since the locals (or the authorities) probably wouldn’t appreciate the revolutionary-oriented plays that had gone over so well in Santa Cruz.

The sluggardly pace of cross-Atlantic mail being well known to Sigrun (who had at certain times used it to her advantage), she had half expected to find a letter awaiting the troupe rescinding the offer and instead offering them service against the Portuguese in the abominable jungles of Brazil, or the French in Indo-China, or some such hot and miserable place. Fortunately for all concerned, this had not eventuated.

To a certain extent, they were all a bit homesick by now, so a nice ocean voyage back to Europe was just what they needed. Sigrun paused a moment, wondering if she could bribe Mikkel into telling the kids that such a voyage was, in fact, his prescription for what ailed them...


	2. Goa Their Way

Tuuri was still frowning down thunderously at the blank sheets in front of her when Sigrun went by the office area; this caught the troupe leader’s attention, as it was unlike Tuuri to fuss over something for any length of time. “What’s up, Fuzzy-Head? What’s got that frown on your face?”

Tuuri half-growled, half-sighed, rubbing the back of her neck in frustration. “I wanted to write a new play for us to perform when we get back to Europe, but I’m… well, I’m just… y’know, stuck! I can write a letter in Tamil, a proclamation in Russian, a fatwa in Arabic, or a quatrain in French, Swedish, English or Finnish off the top of my head, but I can’t work out how to start a brand-new play for us, even though I’ve been adapting other people’s plays for our troupe since forever! It’s just so… maddening!”

“Well, ‘when in doubt, add an adjective’, y’know?” Sigrun quoted in an attempt to be helpful.

Tuuri shot Sigrun a Look. “I can’t add an adjective when I haven’t even put the first sentence down yet,” she pointed out in the tone of forced patience people use when they’re trying to explain something that their listener can’t quite understand.

Sigrun didn’t let it bother her. “Well, why don’t you start with something easy, like, ‘It was a dark and stormy night’?”

“Have you been reading my Minerva Press novels again?” Tuuri asked suspiciously. “Besides, plays don’t start out like that.” She sighed heavily. “I’m not even sure what this play should be about, now!”

“Well,” Sigrun said thoughtfully, looking off into the distance, “why don’t you make it about one of our adventures, like our latest trip through the subcontinent?”

Tuuri looked appalled. “I can’t! It would blow our cover!”

Sigrun dismissed that worry with an airy wave of one hand. “Naaaaaaah. Just change the names and dates and put in some silly stuff like… I don’t know… maybe a dragon coming to the rescue in the last battle or something. Just throw in something to tell the audience ‘this is just a show’ and our cover will be fine.”

“Nobody’ll like the size of their parts,” Tuuri groused, but Sigrun could see a glint of inspiration start in her eyes. “Especially Emil.”

“Just give him a noble and dramatic death scene and he’ll be fine with whatever else you throw at him,” Sigrun advised.

“And where should I even start?” Tuuri asked. “Should I go back to when we got the job, or pick up when we landed in Goa, or what?”

“Well, you could start with…”

*

Lalli emptied his stomach over the side of the wharf while Emil watched on in helpless concern. Now that they were back on dry land, Lalli would have some relief from his pervasive sea-sickness that always proved such a problem for them on these trips.

*

“You want me to open on Lalli puking his guts up? Why?”

“Well, it gets the audience’s sympathies aroused, so they care about him.” Sigrun leaned in and said in a confidential voice, “You know, your cousin isn’t the easiest guy in the world to get along with, and that’s a problem in a play.”

Tuuri giggled, as Sigrun had intended.

“It also sets up the Emil-Lalli relationship,” Sigrun continued, “which is always important when you have something of such portent.”

“Your point,” Tuuri acknowledged.

“Anyway, if you start there, you can go on with…”

*

Mikkel handed Emil a canteen. “Here. Help him clean up.” He gestured at the wretched form of the retching Finn.

Emil looked at the canteen dubiously. “It’s just water, right?”

Mikkel rolled his eyes. “Even I know that this is not the time for such things, Emil,” he told the younger man.

“MIKKEL! GET OVER HERE BEFORE I SMASH THIS IDIOT’S STUPID FACE IN!”

Mikkel rolled his eyes again and started off in the direction of the bellicose bellow…


End file.
